Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I did not know whose side you were on.”

He said it flatly, and it landed like a slap, and it was — she understood even in the moment — completely reasonable.

“Put yourself where I was,” Harrison said.

“I have a photograph of a woman I believe faked her death.

I have a man I fired.

And then the wife of that man turns up at my gate, hurt, using her real name, with no documents, answering an advertisement, asking for a live-in position in the house of the man her husband’s mistress had been married to.